I Am Not the Singer That You Wanted
by LaVendettaDellaFarfalla
Summary: Fill for prompt on the angst meme: Having reconciled after high school, and after some success on Broadway, Rachel and Jesse decide that it's time to finally have children.Their first child is born deaf.


_Filled for this prompt on the Glee_angst_meme: __**Having reconciled after high school, and after some success on Broadway, Rachel and Jesse decide that it's time to finally have children.**_

_**Their first child is born deaf. **_

_Author's note: I originally filled this anonymously, but since I've decided to start using my FF account more, I decided to post it here. Enjoy!_

_Part 1  
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Jesse St. James falls in love for the first time when he's eighteen years old, with the most irritating _(most beautiful, most talented, most amazing) _girl he's ever met.

He falls in love for the second time when he's twenty-five years old, with the tiny bundle placed carefully in his arms by a nurse at the hospital. The moment he looks into the face of this little creature – _his daughter _- he knows he never wants to let her go.

_Part 2_

"What are we going to call her?" Rachel is leaning back into Jesse's chest, her arms cradling the newborn. There are tear-tracks on her face and her eyes are red from tiredness and crying, but Jesse thinks she's never been more beautiful.

He thinks for a moment, then answers: "What about Yarona?"

Rachel scrunches her nose up, and to be honest he was kind of expecting that reaction.

"Hear me out," he says quickly. "It means 'she will sing' in Hebrew, and I just thought with us both being performers and you being Jewish . . ." He trails off.

"Yah-roh-nah. . ." His wife rolls the name around her tongue like she's tasting it. He watches her face carefully. It remains impassive for a few moments, then breaks into a smile. "It's perfect!"

Jesse leans down and kisses Rachel's hair, lingering to breathe in the smell of her shampoo and the underlying scent that is purely Rachel. "A perfect name for a perfect little girl." And he means it.

_Part 3_

Rachel is crying into his chest, her tears wetting the front of his shirt. The strangled sobs coming out of her throat tug at his heart. The first couple of weeks after Rona was born she had kept bursting into tears at odd moments, telling him it was the hormones that made her weepy. This is nothing like that. These tears have purpose, and it breaks his heart to see them. "It's okay," he soothes, gently stroking her hair. "Everything's going to be okay."

"She can't _hear_, Jesse," she moans. "How is that okay?"

"The doctor said it might be possible to treat it, remember? And even if they can't, it doesn't make her any less perfect."

She sniffles. "I know that. But . . . but if they can't . . . Oh god, Jesse, she'll never . . . she'll never hear us _sing."_ This brings on a fresh wave of sobs, so violent that her body shakes.

He wraps his arms around her, hushing her, whispering into her ear that _it'll be okay. _He doesn't let her see the tears pooling in his eyes.

"Her name means 'she will sing'. But she can't . . . she'll never be able to . . ." a wail escapes her throat, and she buries her face back in his chest.

It's been Rachel's dream to have a daughter she can sing showtunes with; Jesse knows this. Her dream has just collapsed on top of her, and he knows her heart must be broken into pieces.

He holds her, and he hushes her, and he whispers soothing words into her ear. He has to be strong for Rachel. He has to be . . .

But deep inside, there's a niggling feeling. A feeling of _this isn't what I expected. _And even deeper inside, a feeling of _this isn't what I __**wanted.**_

He pushes that feeling back down as soon as it comes, but there's no denying that it was there. He expected to have a daughter who would grow up attending her parents' shows, learning the words to every song so she could sing along in her head; a daughter who perhaps one day would become a performer herself . . .

The bitter taste of guilt coats his tongue. He loves his daughter more than anything. He will always love her, no matter what, no matter what disability she has.

But he can't help but feel a sense of longing when he thinks about that picture of the future in his head. That picture of him watching a DVD, a musical, with Rachel and his daughter, and them all singing along to it together, his daughter's voice ringing out, bright and happy and bold . . .

He doesn't even try to stop the tears this time.

_Part 4_

Rona knows she isn't what her parents expected. They've never said it to her, but she knows. They expected a girl who could sing, they got her instead. Not only can she not sing, she can't hear them sing. How cruel it is that two parents who both made their livelihood singing ended up with a daughter who could hear nothing.

Her parents love her, she knows that well. She's never doubted it, not even in her worst moments, the moments where she felt she was a disappointment to them both, that two people as good-hearted as her parents didn't deserve to have a kid like her, a kid who can only watch when her parents perform, straining her eyes to try and make out the words.

Of course, that's until the dancing starts.

When the dancing starts, she doesn't need to hear the music; she can _see _the music. The rhythm pulsing through the dancers' bodies captivates her. She can _feel _the music, flowing through her body like an electric current, prickling her skin until every hair stands on end.

It's her father who notices. During one of her mother's shows, one with an _exceptional _amount of dancing, she catches him watching her, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. She forgets about it until they're back through the door of their New York apartment, when he turns around and signs: _How would you like to take some dance classes?_

She says no at first; how can she dance when she can't hear the music? But Jesse persists, and soon she finds herself taking her first class. She isn't worried about understanding the instructions. She can read lips, and a friend of hers who speaks sign language is also taking the class, so she should be fine. It's the dancing itself she's worried about. What if being unable to hear the music ruins everything? What if she's just no good anyway?

But then she starts to dance, and it's as natural as breathing to her. Her skin tingles with the same electricity she felt when she watched, but multiplied by a hundred. All her fears, her worries, her dark thoughts . . . they all disappear when she starts to dance, flying into the oblivion, so unimportant now.

The time for her first performance (her first _performance_) comes up, and she is given a solo. As she dances she tells herself _don't think about the music. Let the audience feel the music._ She dances her heart out, and just hopes it will be enough.

Afterwards, she goes to meet her parents outside. They're surrounded by a little group of people she recognises. Uncle Kurt and Uncle Blaine and Aunt Mercedes and a whole bunch of others. She's sure that later she'll be touched that they came to see her, but right now all she cares about is her parents. She dashes into the middle of the group, and signs frantically. _Was it good? Did I do good? _

She's startled to see the tears in her mother's eyes. _You did great,_ Rachel signs, her hands quivering just a little. She looks to her father. He signs just one word – _Perfect – _and then gathers her into his arms.

When he releases her, she rushes some more signs. _I know you wanted a little girl who could sing, but I can dance, and maybe that's almost as good?_

Her mother's bottom lip quivers. Her father begins to sign, but Rachel cuts him off._ Dancing is different from singing, but no less beautiful. Maybe even more beautiful. You are __**everything **_– she signs that last word with emphasis – _I ever wanted in a daughter. _Her dad nods, a small smile on his face. Tears are glistening in _his _eyes now. Half of her – the immature half – wonders when her parents became such crybabies. The other half feels like crying itself, knowing how much she managed to move them.

Something comes back to her then. A song her mom used to sing to her with her hands. One she had apparently sung with her old glee club.

She raises her hands and signs, hoping that her mother will get the reference and it will make her smile.

_I am not the singer that you wanted, but a dancer._


End file.
